The Junk Drawer

Each September my town hosts the Celtic Classic Highland Games & Festival, a celebration of Celtic culture with music, food and athletic competitions involving big burly men.

In kilts.

Here’s an example of a kilt-clad burly man throwing a 56lb. (25.5kg) block across the grass, as I stood on the sidelines hoping the officials knew when to duck.

One of the longest food lines was at this stand. If you don’t know what it is, I suggest you stay ignorant. It’s not for the weak of stomach.

If you don’t look it up, perhaps you can guess what’s in it by looking at it on a plate. And, no, it’s not impolite to ask a complete stranger if you can take a picture of his haggis. As long as you ask nicely. I didn’t even have to flash my blogger badge.

Looks a little like cat food, no? Meow.

About a thousand men walked the grounds in really gorgeous kilts, some with cute knees to match. It’s easy to get used to seeing men in skirts when they look like this.

Not half-bad!

Or this. Beautiful!

But then there’s this. GI Joe kilt!

And then ….. well. This.

Gotta hand it to this guy. Nobody’s gonna make fun of him for wearing a skirt. Nobody.

Go ahead, Miss Kathy. Take your pick.

One of my fondest memories from childhood involved Sunday morning visits to a bread bakery. Not really a bakery, but a factory, where bread was baked and packaged up for delivery to grocery stores and other outlets.

My Dad owned a tire service business and one of his customers was Leone’s Bakery in Easton, Pennsylvania. His company serviced their fleet of delivery trucks and my Dad was good friends with the owner.

One of the perks of that friendship was being invited to come in on Sunday and buy fresh bread that came right out of the ovens. A six-year-old Kathy always got to join him.

The things I remember most after I stepped into the factory were the heat, the noise and the aroma of delicious fresh bread that wrapped its arms around you and wouldn’t let go. It was intoxicating.

It could have been freezing cold outside, but the moment you walked into the factory, you were in a flour-dusted Sahara. The bakers wore thin white uniforms, always short-sleeved, no matter what the temperature outside. I pitied them in summer months.

And the noise! The machinery that processed the dough and then sent it through an open-ended oven was massive and LOUD. Clang, click, SHHHH. Clang, click, SHHHH. At the start of the assembly line, little chunks of dough were cut and dropped onto the belt where metal ice cream scoop-like arms would come down upon them, grab them and give a vigorous shake, until they formed little balls of goodness.

In perfect formation, the bread balls would move down the conveyer and into the oven, where they would bake up and fall out on the other side as crispy, delicious Kaiser rolls.

My Dad’s friend would hand me a bag and tell me to go pick out a dozen of the best rolls in the bin. I know it sounds silly, but getting to handpick seconds-old, piping hot rolls out of that bin made me feel special. It was something my friends didn’t get to do because their Dads didn’t have an “in” with a bread guy. Score!

You can probably gather by now that I was happy with the simple things in life, still am. Two more things were about to happen that were such big deals to me in my young life.

After my Dad and I said our good-byes, we got in the car and my Dad would let me turn the ignition to start it. Me! Making this big machine start up all by myself! CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-VROOOOOM!

Good job, Kathy. Good job.

When we got home with our bread loot, some Kaisers and some French bread loaves, my next little excitement was to deliver one of the loaves to our neighbor Mrs. Meyers.

A sweet old lady, she would greet me at the door with a smile. Morning, Mrs. Meyers! I have your bread! She’d take the crispy loaf from my tiny hands and deposit back two shiny quarters for my trouble. My Dad would never let Mrs. Meyers pay for the bread, but he did let her pay me for delivering it.

Thank you, Kathy. You have a good day now, OK?

I will, Mrs. Meyers!

And off I ran to my house to drop the quarters in my piggy bank and then rip into our own loot. Nothing better than still-warm, crispy rolls broken apart and slathered with butter or stuffed with cheeses or meats.

Another Bread Sunday under my belt. I don’t remember when we stopped going together, but those trips with my Dad were some of the best in my kid memory.

Thanks, Dad, for making me feel like a big girl in my six-year-old head.

Living directly under an airport flight path, I periodically have dreams involving airplane crashes. Nightmares, actually.

The last one I had involved a fiery crash and The Three Stooges.

This week I had another one. I was long overdue.

In this episode my husband Dave was piloting a plane with me as the only passenger. Like the last dream, I didn’t sense I was in a plane. It seemed more like I was in a car.

I was lying down resting on a leather bench seat, with a blanket over me. All of a sudden we see two jets nearing us. They flew so close to each other that one clipped the wing of the other, sending them both screaming to the ground.

Dave confidently told me not to worry about our plane and that he would get us home safely.

We tooled around the sky for a while until I noticed we were nowhere near home. We were flying over a big city. A strange city at that.

None of the buildings were made of concrete. Instead, they had rounded edges and were softly colored and flexible. When we flew too close to the buildings, they simply bent out of the way.

The entire cityscape had a GUI-interface quality about it. I realized then that we were in a video game. Awesome.

After we got out of the city, Pilot Dave announced he was leaving the game to return to our house. I told him I’d hoped we’d left the garage door open because we forgot to put the remote opener in the plane when we left.

For the record, a plane does not actually fit in our garage.

I told him I was tired and would be sacking out for the ride home. I also asked if he could swing by Jimmy’s for some hot dogs.

And then I curled up under the blanket, happy in the knowledge that hot dogs were in my future, yet a little confused as to when exactly my husband got his pilot’s license.

I awoke from my dream hungry for dogs and thrilled I survived another plane crash nightmare wherein I didn’t die. Self-preservation is a beautiful thing.

I’ve been blogging over two years now and managed to avoid discussing the topic of farts in all that time. Which is remarkable because farts are hysterical when executed at the right time and in the right place.

At a slumber party? Funny.

In the middle of your wedding vows? Not funny.

There are times, though, when they are both funny and not, depending on where you are positioned in relation to the farter.

Let’s go back to 1990 when I was taking a computer programming class at my community college.

Most of us students were adults earning degrees in evening classes. But one student, though an adult by chronological age, was about four years old by any other standard.

Why? Because he farted during every single class. Out loud and often. With no attempt to muffle.

He sat up front, three feet from the instructor. Every time Farty McFartster let loose up there we shot pity looks at the professor. That man never flinched. Not once. God bless him. He kept right on teaching. Was he fart-deaf?

Meanwhile, the rest of us were dying. We did whatever we had to do. Chomped down hard on a pencil. Put our hands over our mouths to stifle laughter. Or, in some cases, got up and left the room. Usually the ones in direct line of fire.

It was incredible to us that Farty never tried to suppress his air. He’d even lift up a cheek so as to give it a clear and unencumbered exit, without a hint of embarrassment.

During class breaks, some of us would head outdoors to bust a gut laughing about it and Farty would come out and try to join the party. We’d shuffle away from him as a clustered unit. We never allowed anyone to get caught alone with him. There was safety in numbers.

We wondered aloud how it was that Farty would ever get a job in the computing field, or any other, for that matter. We imagined him farting answers to interview questions.

If he did get a job, we figured no one would work within twenty feet of him.

We hoped he’d find at-home employment away from the ears of others, where he could play his fart symphonies to his heart’s content.

Farty, wherever you are, I hope you saw a doctor because somethin’ bad was a-brewin’.

And Farty’s co-workers, if there are any? We’re sorry. We didn’t have the guts to get him an intervention. We just took our credits and ran.

I recently discovered the coolest book called Hello, Cupcake! In it is the cutest assembly of fun and whimsical cupcakes you can make easily with regular store-bought cake, icing, cookies and candies.

Here is my first attempt at making something completely non-cupcakey — spaghetti and meatballs!

First you make regular vanilla cupcakes. Then tint vanilla icing with a bit of yellow food coloring for the pasta. Use a Ziplock bag to squeeze the "pasta" out all over the cupcakes. Go crazy!

Top with Ferrero Rocher hazelnut chocolates dipped in low-sugar strawberry preserves for the meatballs. Finish with grated white chocolate for the parmesan cheese.

Are these not awesome?!

Hungry for a little Italian tonight?

If you have a sweet tooth, these are for you. They are scrumptious! A mess to eat, but who cares? They’re cupcakes! Or are they?

Yep, that’s my first cell phone from circa 1995. I actually used it in a grocery store to make the emergency call to my husband that cell phones were built for: regular or Double Stuff Oreos?

I’m pretty sure that’s when the whole Wanting to Punch People Who Use Cell Phones for Unnecessary and Stupid Calls thing started.

Sorry. You can blame me.

As you know, Windy had a birthday yesterday, complete with cake and balloons. Someone who saw me walking into the building with obvious party items asked me "Whose birthday is it?"

I couldn’t bear the thought of responding "A plastic bag," so I said simply "Someone special." It wasn’t really a lie, was it?

I emailed colleagues from my building to let them know they should come to my office for the cake cutting at lunch time.

But then something strange happened.

I heard a rustling coming from the cake room. A plastic kind of rustling.

Somehow Windy’s friends must have intercepted the email.

That’s right! Our little Windy turns one year old on Wednesday and I’m celebrating the day with cake and a party.

It’s not every day I order cakes for non-human entities. The poor guy at the bakery didn’t know what to make of it when I handed him a picture of Windy to put on it.

We spent a lot of time discussing what color and decorations I wanted on the cake. I thought violet and green would accent her tree quite nicely.

When we finalized the order, he said "And you want this written on it?" He held up the note I gave him at the start of my insane order.

Him: "Happy Birthday…. um….."

Me: "Windy."

Him: "Riiiight."

He told me it would cost a little extra to put her picture on it.

I said, "That’s OK. She’s worth it!"

I skipped away to do a little grocery shopping and I’m pretty sure he waited until I turned a corner, then called security and told them "Crazy lady in Aisle 9. Keep an eye on her."

I’m taking the cake to work so I don’t eat it all myself. If you work with me, swing by my office Wednesday for a piece in honor of Windy. It’ll be the craziest thing you do for a long, long while.

I mean it, too. I thought I was ordering a quarter sheet cake, but when I picked it up, I realized I ordered a half sheet. Seriously. SHOW UP FOR CAKE!

And try to excuse that the baker put Windy’s picture on upside down. Poor Windy. Stuck for a year and now hanging by her toes.

“Happy Birthday Windy, Sorry you’re still stuck!”

I’ll be away from the blog most of the week and won’t be able to check in very much. So I’m offering up a little game you can play without me. I stole it from Sandee at Comedy Plus, who stole it from someone else.

It’s very simple. I start the game off by listing two words or phrases, like waffles or pancakes, and you pick the one you like better. You can explain why if you like.

Then you leave two more words or phrases for the next commenter to choose from. If someone derails the game, will someone please jump in and get it back on track? Thanks!

Ready? First comment: Facebook or Twitter?

Go!

Listen up, folks. I have to report for jury duty tomorrow. I was hoping they wouldn’t even want my number, but I checked the court’s website and I’m in the range of like ten thousand people they want to show up.

I promise I will do my civic duty to the best of my ability should I get selected. But, seriously. Would you want me on your jury, knowing I have done the following?

1.   I’ve been taking pictures of a plastic bag in a tree for nearly a year.

2.   I ate a Beggin’ Strip dog treat.

3.   I once apologized to a plumber for a fart my cat left.

4.   I see things in my food.

5.   I find shredding paper one of life’s greatest joys.

6.   I left outdoor pumpkins to rot in a Christmas display.

7.   I interviewed a dog.

8.   I got lost two tenths of a mile from my house.

9.   I seat-belt my food in the car.

10. I marvel at my cats’ pee.

Really, now. Don’t you think I should get a pass for all that? All aboard the crazy train!

I hope this What’s That? challenge is so hard it makes you insane.

I hope you curse me, scream at your computer, get a migraine and vow never to play this game again. Sounds like fun, huh?

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object it’s part of wins either 500 Entrecard credits or a Junk Drawer magnet, your choice.

Go!

I drove to work yesterday funkin’ out to this song. I guarantee it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it is the basis for something I learned about my father and so you should really just roll with it.

My dad is an awesome dancer. An awesome polka dancer, and so is my mom. When they take to the floor, they’re stunning and mesmerizing and everyone wants to be like them. But they never will because they all suck at it and that’s why polka has a stigma. You’ve only seen it done badly.

The above song, Hot in Here by Nelly, played at a family birthday party some years ago and everyone under 40 stood up and rushed the dance floor.

And then my 80-year-old dad followed us. Oh no. No, no, no. He does polka. He doesn’t do hip-hop. He shouldn’t do hip-hop.

Ask me how scared I was.

But Dad put us all to shame. We watched in utter awe of his moves. He had the rhythm down perfectly, gyrating arms and legs appropriately – no embarrassing spasms of any kind – every move in time with the beat.

We were blown away by the sight of my Dad funking out and doing it right. And that’s when I realized what I thought was my God-given funkaliciousness wasn’t divine at all. Clearly it was my Dad who gave me the gift.

Oh, yeah. I got the funk in me. And so it was, on the way to work with this song blasting, I started feelin’ it. Small movements at first, but then it overcame me.

I would car funk dance for the next six miles.

How is car funk dancing done, you ask?

Crank the music and follow along.

Sway left and right, shoulders moving forward and back. Tilt head two beats on the left, one on the right, one on the left, then two beats on the right. Rinse and repeat.

Bob your head forward and back at a 45 degree angle. Go ahead. Try it now.

Jut the chin forward in time with the bass, like the Mick Jagger chicken dance, but without the flapping wings part.

You may alter your shoulder activity after a while, such that you are “shrugging” them in tandem while bobbing the head about.

You may or may not involve the arms and hands as part of your funk driving. There is the safety issue, but that’s what knees are for. Drive with them if you must.

Bring your hands forward, clench them in fists, arms raised as if you were boxing. Now continue to bob the head, left and right shoulders alternating forward and back.

How do you look now? Are you feelin’ it?

Remember, funk driving rules state that you ignore other drivers staring at you. You must car dance uninhibited. Live a little.

And thus concludes today’s lesson. Dad, thank you for giving me the funk. And Nelly, thank you for starting my day off right, even though an hour later it turned to crap.

Have a funky weekend, peeps!

Seriously. We’re gonna do this now?

We had wind gusts over 60mph today. Three more bags joined Windy and New Guy (look on the left for the brown bag that’s a bit hard to see).

I’m out of my mind at this point. I never thought we’d have more than Windy to look at. I cannot bear to watch five bags hanging onto branches for months to come.

As for the poll to name the new bag, I hope you won’t be too mad if forego the poll and pick a favorite right now. Ben Barden knocked it out of the park with "Gusty." I think a lot of you liked that name, too.

Thank you for all your fun suggestions. I especially liked that many of you were happy for Windy because she got a date for Valentine’s Day. Now she has a posse.

As for naming the others, let’s just call them "The Others," mmm-k?

How weird would it be if I called our Facilities Services department and asked them to get the four they can reach out of the trees, leaving only Windy behind? Do you dare me?

I’m still in shock. Another bag flew up into a tree at my building.

All fresh and new and STUCK.

So which one of you put it there? I know you’re all trying to make me insane. You know this means war.

At least our Windy has a friend now. FOREVER.

I’m serious. If I find out one of you put it there, I’ll hunt you down and make you climb up and get it out. And I don’t care if you break all your bones when you fall out.

You know what this means now? New bag needs a name. Drop your suggestion in the drawer and I’ll run a poll after I’ve picked a bunch that I like.

I wouldn’t have believed this if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes. Windy got a mate.

This is a recipe for my world famous Serviceable Post. It’s what you get when I only have tidbits that don’t make real posts. Consider it the casserole of blogging.

Combine all ingredients in a word processor on medium speed and let sit. Time to prepare: 30 minutes. Serves everyone.

Ingredients:

1 observation: I have a new man in my life. His name is Brawny. I always thought Brawny paper towels were like Bounty’s little brother who always stood in its shadow. I was wrong. Thick and strong, these manly paper towels can stand up to any mess and then some. Brawny, I’m sorry I never gave you a chance until now. Forgive me?

1 question: Every morning when I get in my car to drive to work, I have to raise the rear-view mirror. When I leave work, I have to lower it. I’ve read our spines can elongate as much as an inch overnight while sleeping. I’m guessing this is why all the readjusting. Do you have to do this too, or am I the only one with a yo-yo spine?

1 celebrity sighting: A friend of mine got in line behind Paul Sorvino at the grocery store last night and got up the nerve to talk to him. She’s still kicking herself for saying she loved him in the TV comedy Still Standing. He’s thinking What? No Goodfellas?

A pinch of stupid: I bought a thin baguette at the store yesterday, still warm and crispy out of the oven. I carried it to the checkout register under my arm, it broke in half and the top part fell out of the bag and onto the floor in front of about twenty people.

A clerk was summoned to get me a new one and when he brought it over said with a wink "The crust is really crisp. Be careful." I guess my guns are stronger than I thought. Apparently you do not want to mess with me.

 2 gloves: My husband’s had a cold for a week and is trying not to get his germ-ridden fingers on anything I touch. Thanks, dear. But isn’t it hard to type like that?

By the way, I’ve been downing Airborne tablets like I do whenever I’m around sick people. I know the FDA says it’s a crock of poo, but I haven’t had a cold in almost five years. Coinkydink? I think snot.

Today marks the 300th day that our bag Windy has been stuck in the tree outside my building at work. I’ll have you know I braved single-digit temperatures and an intense fear of heights to get this shot.

No one is surprised anymore to see me out on the roof. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

Enjoy!

I’ve been sitting here, what? Three years, three winters, and someone finally realizes I might be cold? I shouldn’t complain. At least someone thought to give me the scarf. It’s soft and beautiful, but a blanket and butt-warmer are really what I need.

I also can’t turn my head, my legs are killing me and my sciatica is really acting up. Beyond the pain, I’m extremely bored looking at these few squares in the pavement. For three days in the fall, I stared at a wet leaf that just wouldn’t blow away. Drove me insane.

Last winter when a guy cleared snow, he almost ripped my foot off with the plow. Easy, dude. I live here!

My nose runs a lot in this weather and I know you can’t really see my purse, but there are Kleenex in there that I’ve been dying to get at. They’re so close, yet so far.

Two nice ladies walked by me today and took my picture. I wish they would have sat down and talked to me because, twenty feet away, this is my permanent company. He’s been asking me out for a year. Why am I a creep magnet?

Hi! I’m a dork.

Blogger’s Note: Click here to see reader Richard Wall’s wonderful interactive panoramic view of this location.

If anyone has Wii Fit, please share your experiences. And injuries, if any.

In this season of giving I bestow upon you, my faithful readers, a gift like no other. And that gift, of course, is BACON.

I found a cool site that will baconize any web site simply by adding its URL to the end of it.

Here is the site: http://bacolicio.us/

If you’d like to see The Junk Drawer in all its bacon glory, click this: http://bacolicio.us/http://www.junkdrawerblog.com

Freaky and delicious! Walk back from your screen and it looks even more realistic.

You’re welcome.

Of the 70+ guesses made on the Sunday What’s That? post, only one was correct. A hearty congratulations goes to Becca of the Gray and Becca blog!

The object shown was part of a paper towel holder.

The hint I gave you might have thrown you off track. I said it may or may not be Christmas-related. Do you hate me? I didn’t mean to confuse or trick anyone. (Yes I did.)

And now for something totally random!

I hate my own name today. There are five Kathys at work with whom I conduct business regularly. It’s a nightmare when several of us are involved in the same issue, as was the case today.

It’s pretty much a given that half the emails I read or send today will be from a Kathy or to a Kathy. In one exchange I talked to four Kathys in two minutes. I’m all Kathied out! Kathy Kathy Kathy! Doesn’t my name sound weird when you hear it over and over?

My phone just rang. It was from a Kathy. A Kathy who doesn’t work here. That’s it. I’m being stalked by Kathys.

I’m posting this What’s That? item on a Sunday morning so that all you early risers can get in a guess before all the other sleepy heads. It’s your reward for getting up at an ungodly hour for a weekend day.

How this works:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object it’s a part of wins either 500 Entrecard credits or a Junk Drawer magnet, your choice.

What’s that? Hint: It may or may not be Christmas-related!

Two of my favorite things: Christmas and bacon. Does it get any better?

Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and BACON!

Note: The whole ensemble was crushed up, tossed in Thanksgiving stuffing, baked and enjoyed. Rudolph, we hardly knew ye!

A hamster I know is having a terrible time of things. His name is Seamus (pronounced SHAY-mus). See, he used to live in this house until yesterday.

It was a rockin’ awesome house. A colorful, activity-filled pad that made him the envy of all his friends. Seamus used to have notorious parties there. The bass-thumping, booze-flowing kind, and a rave or two. The cops came once, but they couldn’t arrest anyone because they didn’t have handcuffs tiny enough.

Seamus’ owner decided that this cage was too hard to clean, and so I joined her on a trip to SuperPetz, where she picked out a new cage that was easier to maintain.

Seamus got an Extreme Home Makeover. And not the good kind. This is Seamus’ house now:

* Not Seamus

See how it’s a piece of crap? See how Seamus’ mother doesn’t love him anymore? Even though it’s been explained to him that the downturn in the economy is not the reason he was moved out of his condo and into slum housing, he’s having a hard time understanding.

Don’t worry, Seamus. I’m calling PETA in the morning.

—-

Humor-bloggers love their pets.

In a  previous post, I made mention of getting my head stuck in a wrought iron fence when I was a kid about the age you see me pictured here. All of my memories of it come from the memories of family members who repeatedly bring up the story at holiday and other gatherings. Always when there are enough people around to hear the story and laugh at me.

Yeah, well. I’m having serious doubts that this event ever took place. Why? Because my own mother can’t remember the details. And neither can my one of my sisters who’s a little older than me and likely was there when it supposedly happened.

I think this has all been made-up so that, as the last born child in our family, there will be always something to ridicule me about ’til the day I die. Stop picking on me already!

The story goes that I was playing around on this porch. I got the idea to shove my head through the fence (the fence at the top, not on the steps) and then couldn’t pull it back out.

It’s been said that the fire department had to come rescue me and that they had to cut out one of the rods to make enough room to release me. Indeed, one of the rods was missing for years. But something tells me that it fell out or was taken out for some other reason and that this whole story was concocted to validate my lifelong suspicion that I have a gigantic freak head.

So what is it, my dear siblings? Did I really get my head stuck in a fence, or has this been a 40 year joke at my expense? Was there some truth to it, but over the years it gathered steam? I call bullsh*t on the fire department showing up.

I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell the story again at Thanksgiving. I can withhold pie, you know.

p.s. If that picture doesn’t prove I’ve been a cranky pants my whole life, nothing does.

I knew when I started the What’s That? Wednesday series, I figured there’d be times when I’d forget to post one on Wednesday. As it’s turning out, not only do I not always have an item for a Wednesday, I feel like posting one on Saturday. I’m scattered like that.

So here goes, your weekend version of What’s That? Wednesday:

How it works:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object it’s a part of wins either 500 Entrecard credits or a Junk Drawer magnet, your choice.

What’s That?

Today also brings us our first Comment Extravaganza winner, Bernie O’Hare! In my last post, I wrote that my husband would pick a random comment from each post leading up to my blog reaching its 10,000th comment. The winner receives a Junk Drawer magnet. Dave picked #23.

Bernie runs a very popular political blog called Lehigh Valley Ramblings. He stumbled onto my blog through the blog of newspaper columnist Bill White, who mentioned The Junk Drawer. When Bernie spotlighted my post about grade school memories almost a year ago today, it gave my readership a nice shot in the arm and I’ve never forgotten what that did for me.

I share this history with you because it illustrates how much sheer luck is involved in growing your blog. If Bill White hadn’t mentioned me, Bernie never would have found me and then a year later he wouldn’t have suggested me to our regional paper to be a member of Valley Blogosphere. I’m eternally grateful for the new exposure, both in print and online.

So if you’re a struggling blogger and you think no one’s reading you, don’t give up. Keep writing your best stuff and you never know when someone with influence will find you and give you a boost. It can come from anywhere, anytime. Be ready for it.

CONTEST CLOSED. We have a winner!

Here is a flower arrangement that my husband sent me to work on our wedding anniversary last week.

It’s a lot like another one he sent me that had thin branches jutting out of it, one of which almost took out an eye when I got too close.

I do not know how or if I’ll get it in my car to bring it home.

When I’m working at my desk, its appendages seem to move in my peripheral vision and it scares me.

It’s near impossible to water because it’s jam-packed at the vase neck. And the cat’s in the way.

And while we’re on the cat, I swear its eyes follow me around my cube.

If I’m not mistaken, a flower arrangement is supposed to make me happy, not freak me out.

A little smaller next time, dear. And not so horror movie. I promise I’ll appreciate the gesture just as much.

I’m pretty sure it can strangle me when I’m not looking.

I’m happy to announce the winner of this week’s What’s That? Wednesday contest. New reader, ethanator1088 of PWNED Video, was the first to guess correctly that it’s the strike plate of a stapler. Congratulations! As the prize winner, you have your choice of 500 Entrecard credits or a Junk Drawer magnet. I’ll contact you shortly.

Because Shieldmaiden96 of Dispatches from the Northern Outpost guessed further that it was the Swingline model 545, she can have a magnet, too. I’m equally scared and impressed that she knew that.

Now, I decided to close the contest a little early because of the flood of stapler guesses. So what you’re all saying is that these are too easy, right? I’ll have you know that the photos are reviewed by my husband and, this time, my sister and niece, who said "Oh, that’s too hard." Clearly not.

Since you guys are so smart, the next one will be impossible to guess. Do you hear me? IMPOSSIBLE!

Today’s post also includes an update on our Windy, stuck in the tree for 228 days now. I took this video out on the roof of my building.

If you watch carefully at the end, you can see that Windy was a little embarrassed by being a Walmart bag, knowing how much most of us hate them, and she covered up her name. It’s OK, Windy. We forgive you.

 

To get away from Bob of Survivor. People kept confusing them for twins and the chicken was insulted.

Dude, eat something. Anything. Grass, bugs, another contestant. Something.

I’m pleased to announce the winner of this week’s What’s That? Wednesday contest. Ron of the Vent blog was the first to guess correctly that it’s the tip of a battery-operated nose hair trimmer. Or, if you have particularly hairy ears, you can use it there, too.

Congratulations Ron! I’ll contact you shortly. Since you are not an Entrecard user, it looks like you’re getting a Junk Drawer magnet.

Thanks for playing, everyone! Look for another What’s That? contest in two weeks.

Commence with the guessing about who in our household uses this thing for what kind of wayward hairs. Or not. Yeah, let’s not.

I think I did a dumb thing. When I opened up the balloon-counting contest, I made the deadline for guessing an entire week from the post date. What I didn’t realize was that we’d see 86 comments in less than 40 hours. Wow. You guys love contests, don’t you?

It’s safe to say that’s enough guesses, so I’ve decided to close the contest and announce a winner right now. You’re going to be very annoyed because the “person” who guessed the exact amount of balloons was the 4th one to leave a comment. The next 82 of you never stood a chance.

Congratulations Daisy the Curly Cat for correctly guessing that I blew up a gross of balloons. How much is a gross? A dozen dozen, or 144.

For those who didn’t see my responses in the comments, yes, I blew them up myself. It took about three hours, counting the times I had to sit down and suck enough oxygen to continue.

Daisy, as the prize winner, you have your choice of a box of 15 bacon bandages or 1,000 Entrecard credits. I’ll contact you shortly. I might even throw in a little cat toy because you’re such a smart kitty!

Now, if you’re disappointed you didn’t win the balloon contest, I have a What’s That? Wednesday challenge for you. I hope this one is so hard you all hate me and hate me good.

If you can guess the object pictured here, you’ll win a Junk Drawer magnet or 500 Entrecard credits, your choice.

Remember, this photo shows only a small portion of a larger object.

Go!

What’s That?

CONTEST CLOSED: See who won!

A co-worker who reads my blog suggested there was something terribly wrong with me because I kept five old containers of Parmesan cheese in my refrigerator for so long.

Oh, yeah? Is that right?

A few days later she had a birthday. Heh-heh. Have fun tryin’ to get at your desk.

When she arrived this morning and the shock wore off, she asked me how she was going to get any work done.

"Hmmm. Don’t know. That’s your problem."

Is there a lesson here, kids? Sure!

It’s best not to suggest I need therapy, at least not to my face, or you might find yourself the victim of something circus-y. Next time it might be the animals.

Anyone up for a contest?! The first person to submit a guess closest to the number of balloons pictured here wins a box of 15 bacon bandages or 1,000 Entrecard credits, your choice.

Helpful information (or not): There is a 17" box monitor buried under the balloons in the first shot.

Rules:

1. One guess per person.

2. You can’t ask me if it’s more or less than some number. In fact, I’ll get it over with now. It’s more than 1, but less than 500.

3. The closest guess can be under or over the actual amount.

4. Entries must be received by Monday, October 27, 6PM EST.

CONTEST IS CLOSED. It turns out the response was way over the top. Future contests will likely not be open for more than a few days, long enough to allow a reasonable amount of responses. Thanks for playing! Click here to find out who won.

Today’s post is doing double duty.

First, for those playing What’s That? Wednesday, you have another chance to win a Junk Drawer magnet if you can guess the object pictured here. Remember, this photo shows only a small portion of a larger object.

Congratulations to blogless Marlene for guessing that last week’s photo was stick deodorant. Ah! The smell of sweet success! Your prize is on the way.

                                        ****

Next up we have the first ever Junk Drawer interview with — drum roll, please — ME! I have a nasty habit of asking my readers questions about themselves, but I seldom answer the questions myself.

My pal Beamer of BMW Rules either decided enough was enough, or he’s really interested in digging deep within the recesses of my cob-webby brain.

Either way, I owe you guys some answers. Depending on how well it’s received, I may never agree to another one.

One side note: I disclosed my miserable high school SAT score in the second half of his two-part interview. A day later, I told him I had regrets about telling the world how lousy it was, and he graciously allowed me to pull it.

You might learn more about me in the interview, but you’ll never know my SAT score. It dies with me.

So head on over to Beamer’s place and check out Part I of The Junk Drawer interview!

UPDATE: And now you can read Part II of The Junk Drawer interview. Beamer posted it today. Maybe I should run another contest to see if anyone can guess my SAT score?

—–

Let’s say this post is doing triple duty. Smiley me at Humor-Blogs.com, will ya?

Today marks the beginning of a new Junk Drawer series that I’m calling What’s That? Wednesday. It may turn out to be a supremely stupid idea, or it might be really cool and fun and awesome and everyone will steal it from me.

How it works:

I post a picture of part of an everyday object or product and you try to guess what it is.

First one to guess correctly receives something from the Junk Drawer Stuff gallery.

The caveats: I might forget sometimes if it’s Wednesday and not have anything to post. The pictures may be less than perfect and you’ll be annoyed at my crappy photo-taking skills. Or, I may tire of it at any time and discard it, just like all those bunnies I got rid of when they stopped being so cute. Just kidding. Really. I’M KIDDING!

If that’s OK with everybody, here goes!

OK, so what’s that?

Someone once asked me if I would post my typical daily routine. I won’t do that because it would bore you to tears, but I will tell you what I do first thing in the morning. The cats don’t get fed, I don’t make coffee and the newspaper has to wait.

The first thing I do when I get up is check my blog for comments because they make me laugh and set the tone for the rest of my day. At least until I run into my first cranky client at work.

Your comments give me a little glimpse into your world, but I want to learn a little more about my readers. So for the next couple days the blog is all about YOU.

You gotta dig deep because this is all about firsts. Ready?

1.   When was your first kiss?

2.   When did you first start buying holiday or birthday gifts for other people and stop thinking about what people would buy for you?

3.   When was the first time you thought of yourself not as a kid/teen, but as an adult?

4.   What do you remember about the first time you drove a car?

5.   Tell me about your first pet.

6.   What was your first job?

7.   Who was the first teacher to make a positive impact on your life?

8.   If you’ve lived in more than one house or apartment as an adult, tell me about your first one.

9.   What was it like the first time you got drunk (assuming you remember).

10. Did you marry your first love?

Answer all, some or just one that really got you thinkin’!

The Junk Drawer celebrates its first-ever guest post. Actually, it’s a guest email I received last night from my sister, Ann of the Shampoo Bag.

I decided her rant had all the qualities I look for in a blog entry: customer service hell, a hatred for waiting in line, idiots and pizza. And so I give you …

Ann Buys a New Cell Phone 

Gather round kittens, for I have a story for you…

What is with Verizon Wireless? Is this the worst environment in which to purchase a phone AND in which to interact with the buying public?!

First, step right up to the kiosk where there is no way of knowing who’s next. People are swarmed around the counters, all looking, standing, touching, but you have no way of knowing if a person is being helped or is waiting to be helped.

So, you belly up to the counter with rainbows and stars in your eyes hoping that a customer service rep will notice your pathetic-ness.

Next, you have someone’s attention and state your business. In my case, I wanted to purchase one cell phone and one Blackberry. I already knew which model I wanted so we launched right into the TRANSACTION. Fork over your license, birth certificate, cemetery plot deed, and a tube of blood.

During the data entry portion of the program, I begin looking for the bar stools and refreshments. Why must the customer be forced to stand for the entire transaction? I sent Regan for pizza and a soda while I waited for the rep to finish the sale.

In the middle of watching the reps SIT WHILE WORKING, I was informed that the only Blackberry in stock was pink. That was lovely, except I was buying it for Don.

So Jeanette mentions casually that the Circuit City Verizon kiosk in BETHLEHEM has a silver Blackberry that he may like instead. So, after having nourishment to continue making this purchase, we leave the mall and drive to another freakin’ store to pick up the other phone.

As you may know, the Verizon kiosk is located just inside the Circuit City store. I already see five people swarming the kiosk, where only one sales rep is visible.

Let the screaming begin.

At least this place has a sign in sheet. There is one couple deep in conversation with the only rep. He’s got one cell phone on his belt loop, and another in his hand. His wife keeps touching the model phones. OK, can you just pick the one you need. You can read all the features yourself, stop asking questions and buy one, dammit!

While I’m waiting, swear to God, a man is beside me WAITING IN LINE TO PAY HIS MONTHLY BILL!!!!!! He left his house, got in his car, drove to this store, signed a sheet, and waited in line to pay a freaking bill with cash. I’d hate to know what he does with the rest of his time.

So, after waiting 30 minutes, it’s my turn. Yes, my silver Blackberry is sitting on the counter waiting for me. The rep activates the number, answers my questions, and I am on my way home.  Only 2 hours and 30 minutes out of my life that I’ll never get back.

ann of the cell phone bag

Blogger’s note: And now we wait for all the Verizon people to show up, arguing that their system doesn’t need improvement.

What makes me weirder?

a) I watched The Bourne Ultimatum and freeze-framed this newspaper shot so I could read the fine print.

b) I noticed a mistake in grammar, called my husband into the room and excitedly showed him what I’d found.

For the record, he gave me the same blank stare as the time I made him get in my car without telling him why. After we drove around for five blocks, I stopped and showed him why I made him come with me.

My odometer turned over to 77,777 miles!

Well, I thought it was something.

So can you spot the error?

It’s been almost two months since my last plastic bag update. For those new to this blog, I’ve been monitoring the status of a plastic bag that got stuck in a tree outside my building at work. It’s been hanging on for 167 days.

Incidentally, a few people have asked me if it has a name. I’m partial to Windy, which was the name suggested by longtime reader, Alan Bamboo.

The bag hasn’t moved from its original spot, but take a closer look now. Notice the split down the right hand side through the "T" in Wal-mart?

We’re expecting hard rains this weekend, so maybe it’ll cause the split to continue and at least pull down the right handle from one of the two branches it’s stuck on.

Thank you, Rich T., for helping me move a gigantic piece of furniture away from the window to the roof so I could get outside for up-close pictures.

To the woman who saw me walking back into the building from the roof, don’t worry, I wasn’t going to jump. Although I might have if my work week had gotten any worse than it had. TGIF and all that.

Have a good weekend, everybody!

We’ve been battling ants all summer. It’s harder to fight them when you’re using an organic, non-toxic spray that won’t harm our cats. It requires constant vigilance.

My husband doesn’t realize that each year I get a little closer to heart attack age.

Some of you may remember my list of TV guilty pleasures. I shamelessly adore Family Feud. It’s the best way to clear my head after a hard day at work. The hysterical contestants, the bad answers, the giant answer board! What’s not to love?

I recently learned that my good friend JD and her husband, Dave actually know someone who was a contestant on the show AND WON! I immediately fired off a bunch of questions for him, which he so graciously answered for me.

If you’re a fan of game shows, I think you’ll enjoy this behind-the-scenes look inside Family Feud. Survey says LET’S PLAY 20 QUESTIONS!

1. How did you get selected for Family Feud?

My sister Joan (the second oldest of the five kids in our family) answered an ad in her local paper: “Family Feud is coming to Ventura to look for contestants” … Very typical of Joan, she rounded up her husband and three of her siblings and said “We’re doing this.” (At the time, 4 of the 5 kids lived in Southern California; our brother Dave was living in the Bay Area.)

2. Did you have to go in for interviews? If so, what kinds of things did they ask you?

In Ventura, we did an initial tryout. This was their first screening process. Essentially, they just wanted to see if we had a pulse and could formulate complete sentences. You’d be surprised—or maybe not—how many got weeded out at this stage. So we passed that test and were invited to Los Angeles to do the same kind of thing in a more formal setting for the producers.

3. How did you decide which family members would appear on the show?

Like I said, there’s five kids in the family; four were in Southern California at the time. So it was those four plus my sister Joan’s husband (since she was the one who organized the whole thing). This was back in 1991, so none of my nieces and nephews were old enough to be on (you had to be 12).

4. Did you have to “test” play the game to determine who would get picked?

We did a brief test in Ventura; again, just to see who could clap and jump up and down and be animated. Then in Los Angeles, we played a test game against another family. The producer acted as the host. That was fun. He loved us. (How can you not?) He all but told us at the tryout that we would definitely get called to play. This was October, 1991. We were expecting a call soon. November, December, January, February came and went. Nothing.

In the interim, I got laid off and took a job in Chicago (that’s where I met JD’s husband Dave). I moved in March. I had been there about two weeks and they called us to come in the next week. We couldn’t substitute players or we would have to start the tryout process all over again, so I flew back to be in the game show.

5. What do they tell you to do while playing? Must you clap hysterically, even at dumb answers? It seems to me this is a requirement and it’s one of the reasons I love this show.

Absolutely. They want personality. They want animation. No Neanderthals, please. Every answer is a “Good answer! Good answer!” and deserves to be clapped for. Family Feud is pretty much mindless, so you need to bring something to the table.

6. Are there breaks during taping? If so, what do they do with you/to you during that time?

Not really. What happened with us was that we went down on a Friday. They were taping six shows that day. They pretty much went in real time with about 15 to 20 minutes between shows. We just sat there and watched like the rest of the studio audience.

7. Did you have a strategy in deciding whether to pass or play after the head-to-head question at the start of each round?

A strategy? No, not really. It’s been a long time and I’m not sure we had the choice (that was from the Richard Dawson era in the 70s and 80s). I think which ever team won the face-off got to run with the question.

8. What happens if someone makes a big mistake during taping?

Like someone’s fly is open or they sneeze? There was nothing like that. No one ever had to say “Cut! Do it again!” while we were there. However, we actually lost our second game but they made a judging error and brought us back for the next show. You know, every now and then you’ll see that on Jeopardy or something but not on Family Feud. But it happened to us and they brought us back and we won two more shows.

9. How long does taping last?

Like I said, it was done in real time with 15/20-minute breaks in between. They did six shows the first day we were there, so it probably took 4 or 5 hours.

10. What’s it like to get “done up” in the makeup chair?

That’s funny. I have absolutely no recollection of being made up. I’m sure they did something just to hide the glare from our shiny faces but other than a little powder, I don’t think it was anything at all.

11.How did you pick your family’s “leader?”

This was Joan’s project. She’s definitely the personality of the family. She got the ball rolling. She drove the bus. She was at the head of the table.

12. What was your most memorable moment?

There are several. We were on for five shows and won about $13,000 total. The two fast money rounds we won were great, for obvious reasons. When we finally lost, they let us bring all the nieces and nephews and our parents up on stage during the closing credits. That was pretty cool for them to be on TV when they’re in grade school.

On the show, I had a couple good exchanges with the host (I answered “hemorrhoids” to “What do women complain about when they’re pregnant?” and the host gave a really good look on that; I answered “Nothing” to “What do women wear to bed?” and he said, “You’re not married are you?”)

I also remember a couple of things off stage. On the first day of taping, they did six shows. We didn’t get called until the last one. They kept coming over to the waiting area and saying “Ok, Smith family, you’re next.” “Jones family, you’re next.” And on and on. There were more families there than there were shows to be taped (just in case somebody flakes out). Anyway, we’re waiting and we’re getting a little nervous, edgy, anxious. Finally, before the last show, they said, “Shannon family, your next.” My sister Joan turned toward me and let out an absolute shrill of a scream. Just piercing. I looked at her like “What the f….?” … So we won that game and had to come back the next day for more taping.

As they prepped the families who we would play against that day, we sat out in the studio audience. At one point, Joan has to sneeze. And she’s starts “Ahhh.. Aahhh…” looking for a place to sneeze. Finally she just turns toward me and “AAAHHH CHOO!!!!” … It was the weirdest thing. Not like she didn’t cover her nose and mouth. It was just the way she was pausing and looking for a place to sneeze and decided I was as good a place as any. I know that has nothing to do with Family Feud, but I’ll always remember that and we still bring that up and laugh about it.

13. If you wanted to change anything about your performances, what would it be?

I just wish I wasn’t so nervous. Whenever we watch it (we had it on VHS originally and then one my nephews transferred it to a DVD) there are a couple of places I cringe because I just don’t like my delivery. It’s not so much getting questions wrong—some of those were pretty funny—it was more of how I sounded.

14. How much money did you win?

About $13,000 split among the five of us. We won three games and lost two.

15. How long did it take to receive it?

If I remember right we had to wait until after the show had aired, and then it was couple months after that.

16. How did you deal with nervousness?

It wasn’t too bad once we got going. I just had a real fear of drawing a blank. I’d rather give a bad/funny answer than none at all. But like I said, there was a couple of times I didn’t like the way I sounded when I gave an answer.

17. What is it like during the final round? Do you blank out when confronted with the fast questions?

My sister Kathy and my brother John did the bonus round. We chose them because they had previous game show experience (“Blockbusters” back in the early 80s).

18. Who is your all-time favorite host of the show?

Gotta be Richard Dawson, right? He set the standard. We were on with Ray Combs. He was funny; we really liked him. And then he committed suicide a few years after that. Which was really sad; he had about five or six kids.

19. Did you ever want to be on another game show, and if so, which one?

It was fun doing this one because there was five of us. We really had a fun time, as goofy as Family Feud is, it was a great family bonding experience. I like the big-cash/no-brain element of Deal or No Deal, but I don’t think I want to go up there and look like a bozo all by myself.

20. What was it like watching yourself on TV?

Totally weird. Like listening to your own voice on a tape recorder. “Do I look like that? Do I sound like that?” It’s just weird.

THANK YOU, ROB! I’m thrilled you agreed to answer my questions about the show. I can die happy now. Yes, that’s a little sad. But I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to be on a game show, and my favorite one, no less.

It’s possible none of my readers will have anything to say about this in the comments except “Kathy, you have to get out more.” But please check back. You just might have to answer more questions!

Yep. You landed on a humor blog, but I’m allowing myself to get serious for a minute.

I’m convinced the reason people lose there ever lovin’ minds at the end of the day is because they haven’t encountered one act of kindness since they woke up in the morning.

I know this because when I let a guy in front of me at a store checkout counter tonight, you would have thought I’d just handed him the million dollar suitcase from Deal or No Deal. And the buxom woman who goes with it.

The poor guy was shifting back and forth and sighing for what must have felt like an eternity for him. He thanked me three separate times for letting him slip through at another counter after he had to wait behind a woman making a complicated return. I thought he was going to hug me next and invite me to dinner. 

We tend to think that people who lose it are mentally-unbalanced. I don’t think that’s the primary reason. It’s because everyone is in a hurry, nobody thinks of other people and when you just have to run to the store for a bottle of medicine for your sick kid after a brutal day at work, you’re on your last nerve and no one gives you a tiny little break.

It doesn’t take a huge donation to charity to change the world. All it takes are simple acts of kindness. It costs you nothing and pays big.

Has anyone shown you a small kindness lately? Share your stories and uplift me. Oh, and virtual hugs all around!

I’m back home from my whirlwind trip to Toronto, where I met three of my good bloggy friends, Jeff, Jaffer, and JD, a trip that will now be referred to as “The Three J Tour.”

Our goal wasn’t so much to sight-see when we got there. The crappy picture to the left is the best one I took, which proves how little I worked at pointing and clicking. Could I have possibly shot a bigger structure out of alignment?

Didn’t really matter because, for me, this trip was all about meeting my friends.

I’m left with an intense feeling of gratitude for everyone who made it a success and gave me memories to last a lifetime.

And so instead of a lousy photo travelogue, I give you The Three J Tour “Thanks a Whole Lot” Award Ceremony:

Thank you, adventure-seeking sister Ann, for taking off work and driving 1,000 miles to get me there and back. Thank you for dealing with the stress of driving to an unfamiliar place and for not making me feel it was an imposition.

You’re a skilled and steady driver who knew exactly when the GPS lady had her head up her butt. You remained calm under pressure, even when the third street car driver in as many days honked his horn at you. “Have mercy! We’re from Pennsylvania!” For this and more, you get instant membership to the Sister Hall of Fame.

Thank you, easy-going niece Regan, for surviving two 8-hour car trips without complaint. I know in kid time, that’s an eternity. Thank you also for snagging that cab for us after we walked non-stop for six hours the first night. With my newly developed blister, you saved my pinky toe from further damage. You rock.

Thank you Jeff and your three delightful children, Brandon, Austin and Roseanna, for entertaining us while we walked approximately 23 miles exploring the city. Yes, I got a blister. Yes, my legs were lead the next morning. But I forgot all the pain because that night was a jam-packed, Amazing Race-like funfest I’ll never forget.

Additional kudos for not mocking me too much when it was clearly me who messed up the meeting time. You said in your blog last week, and I quote: “But the best part is, Kathy is sure to screw something up big time…” All I can say is you know me too well.

To Jeff’s wife, Charli, I’m sorry I sounded like such a goofus on the phone. I had just seconds earlier met your husband, had a dripping chicken wrap in my hands and a soda can wedged under my armpit. Forgive me?

Thank you Jaffer, for taking a bus 50 miles to meet us in the city. I don’t know anyone else who would do that for me. Hell, I wouldn’t do that for me. Thank you for our Sunday morning coffee klatch, entertaining me with your interesting life stories and being our personal tour guide. But what am I supposed to do now that you treated us to the world’s best gelato and I can’t find it around here?

Our relaxing and delicious lunch was one of the highlights of the trip. I’m so sorry you were the victim of that loose-stool pigeon who had you in his sights. I believe in my heart it was because you were sitting next to me, since wherever I go, trouble follows. Please accept my apologies.

Thank you JD and your husband Dave for letting us glom a day from your vacation to meet with us. I don’t think the hotel staff thought we were too weird for screaming and jumping up and down like fools right there in the lobby when we first met, do you? Thank you for agreeing not to walk 20 miles that day, because I’m quite sure some of my piddies would have fallen off otherwise.

Dinner that night was a blast and I felt warm and cozy, surrounded by friends and family, despite the torrential rain and lightning going on outside. You are exactly the fun and hilarious woman I knew you would be from your blog and our countless emails over this last year. I’m so thankful I had the chance to finally meet you (and your dear, charming husband!)

Thank you nice lady at the border crossing, who let us in the country even though you got suspicious when we said we were only there to meet people instead of truly vacationing. Thank you for not detaining us, even though you rightly questioned why Ann didn’t even know the full names of the people she drove there to meet. We know it sounded a little terrorist-y.

I suppose when you asked what we were bringing into the country, and we answered “Oh, just some whoopie cushions,” (gifts for JD) you realized we were only harmless idiots. Thanks for not probing any further.

Thank you Earth, for putting a small jutting ledge out beyond the railing on the U.S. side of the Niagara Falls, so that I could get close enough to take video. That ledge meant that if I did slip and fall, I would drop only five feet instead of hundreds, straight down to a skull-crushing, body-splattering death.

And one more thanks, while I’m at it, goes to my local newspaper for picking me up for a new feature they call Blogger Tuesdays, where they spotlight posts from “local bloggers of note.”  They published my John Deere gift bag story while I was still in Canada. You hear that? I’m a Blogger of Note! Drinks all around!

I’m off now to bask in the afterglow of my Three J Tour and to figure out how I can meet the rest of you guys. What do you say? Junk Drawer Blog-A-Palooza in 2009?

Maybe my Canadian friends could help me?

UPDATE: It’s a Junk Drawer miracle! My sister, Ann of the Shampoo Bag, was able to take a couple days off work so she could join me on a DRIVE to Toronto! No trains, no planes!

And by “join me,” I mean she can do all the driving and I won’t have to help much because she has a GPS and even if it doesn’t work, we’ll have maps. I have lots of trouble with those, too, but thankfully, her daughter is coming with us, so I’m putting her on map duty. If she was old enough to drive, we’d let her do that too.

Thanks everyone for your advice and offers of help! We’re crazy excited for this trip! I’ll catch up with comments later tonight.

One year ago today, the Junk Drawer opened for business. I’m very excited, as I never dreamed my blog would make it this far or that I would be blessed with the readership I have. Also, there’s going to be cake.

But this day isn’t about me — it’s all about you! And cake.

Thank you for your visits here. Thank you for leaving me the most hilarious comments in The Drawer. Thank you for making me feel that it’s OK to be a little bent. Well, a lot bent.

If you commented here, put me in your blogroll, Stumbled my posts, told your friends about me, subscribed to my feed or bought me cake, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!

I’m deeply grateful to have met so many of you online and gotten to know you through your blogs and emails. I feel like The Junk Drawer belongs to all of us. We’re a community. Writing here and reading your responses has been some of the most fun I’ve had in my life, with or without cake. Toast yourselves and know that I wouldn’t keep doing this if not for you.

Please celebrate this milestone with me and give yourselves a pat on the back for being a part of The Junk Drawer’s success and remember that birthdays are a fun time to look back on the past year, examine our lives and ….. oh, shut up Kathy! Serve the CAKE already!

Pass me a fork!

  Everyone’s a year older at Humor-Blogs.com

Almost missed this one!  Cycling through a million digital pictures, I came across this one taken months ago. I think it makes a fine addition to the Food That Looks Like Stuff collection.

Do you see the face? Or do you think I’m seeing things again?

Wrap Your Brain Around It

For the record, this turkey wrap was heavenly, despite not having a scrap of bacon in it. I know. Hard to believe. It might have actually been healthy. Don’t worry, I won’t let that happen again.

Humor bloggers play with their food.

UPDATE: The fine folks at Odiogo emailed me this morning to report that they gave my blog a female voice! My older posts are still in Phil’s voice, and I’m not sure whether they’ll change over to “Phyllis” down the road.

Anyway, this post no longer makes sense because it was intended for Phil. You can listen to it anyway if you like. I talk about boobs.

Here is the content of the original post:

In order to make the most of this post, please scroll to the bottom and click on the Listen Now button next to Kathy’s name. I’ll wait.

Ready? OK. Let’s get started.

My name is Phil. I’m the voice of Odiogo, a cool, free, text-to-speech tool where you can voice-enable your blog!

Kathy invited me here because a few of her readers have weak eyesight and would benefit from this technology. In addition, you can download the audio files to your iPod and take Kathy on the road with you.

My name isn’t actually Phil, but it’s the name Kathy gave me because Phil is an every man name and she likes it. Also, it’s the name of the host of her favorite reality show, The Amazing Race, which, by the way, she was not accepted for. Bastards.

Anyway, Kathy told me I could say anything I want on this blog post, but only this one. After today, I have to say exactly what she wants me to say. For now, I can let my hair down.

So, get this. When I started out at Odiogo, I was under the impression that I would be hired along with a group of other fake voices. Both men and women.

But it turns out that Odiogo is willfully violating all the Equal Employment Opportunity and affirmative action laws on the books by hiring only men for the part, which is very stupid because like, Kathy’s a woman, and it would sound dumb if I said something she wrote, like, “I went for my mammogram today and my boob got stuck in the scanner.” See, I do not have boobs. Not even manly boobs. I’m very fit.

I was hoping Odiogo would hire at least one woman so I would have someone to go out with after work. I’m single. Is that hard to imagine? What? You don’t think I sound sexy? Oh, I’m very sexy. They just gave me a bad voice.

It’s the same kind of voice they use for those hellish automated telephone menus when you call a company to request service or complain about something. Do you know how you can avoid most of them? Press zero on the key pad and you go straight to a human. Little tip from me to you.

Anyway, back to my sexy voice. I’m all business while I’m at work, but you should hear me after I’ve had a few beers. I’m smooth. I’m awesome. The ladies love me.

In fact, they like it when I get up at the bar and do karaoke. Here’s a sample of the latest song that got all the women hot.

I’m a model. You know what I mean.
And I do my little turn on the catwalk.
Yeah. On the catwalk. On the catwalk. Yeah.
I do my little turn on the catwalk.
I’m too sexy for my car. Too sexy for my car.
Too sexy by far.
And I’m too sexy for my hat.
Too sexy for my hat. What do you think about that?

See? You can’t resist me. Please answer my call for help. Leave a comment below and let Kathy know how much you want me to have women to work with. Tell her that she has to contact Odiogo and inform them of their grave mistake and they need to hire a chick to read Kathy’s posts.

And not just any woman. She should be a built brunette and have legs that go on for miles. That’s how Kathy sees herself and frankly, that’s the kind of woman I want to hang out with in the recording studio.

Do a guy a favor, eh? Thanks, and now I’ll turn Kathy’s blog back over to her. You’ll always find the Listen Now button at the bottom of her posts so you lazy asses who don’t want to read, can still get a dose of The Junk Drawer.

Before you go, head on over to Humor Blogs dot com and click on the smiley button to show her the love.

Over and out.

Greetings from Bag Land! Some of you have been wondering how our beloved plastic bag is doing stuck in the tree outside my building. Here you go!

There has been little movement since it first landed there 111 days ago. I do check on it every day, despite having moved to a new office in my building. I’m only one floor away from my old office, so don’t worry, I can still see it whenever I’m curious.

About a month ago, I had two opportunities to try and get the bag out. Once when window washers were cleaning windows, using a vehicle that had an expandable ladder that might have reached the bag. Then later, some workmen were putting up outdoor tents for an event. The machine they used would have easily reached the top of this tree.

I declined to ask the men for assistance for three reasons: 1) I didn’t want to be known as the crazy lady who cares about a stupid bag, 2) They had more important work to do, and 3) A couple people whose opinions I sought said I should let the bag come out naturally, especially since there is a contest involved.

New readers may want to catch up on the bag story. This is where it made its first appearance. Here’s the story about how the bag got there. And this post was an update that includes video.

Among those who entered my little contest, 14 of you are still in the running. However, many guessed dates this summer, so your chances of winning are growing slimmer and slimmer.

Let me ask everyone now: If I get another opportunity to get the bag out, should I take it?

Like this post? Toss me a vote for the funniest blog at Humor-Blogs.com!

I’ve just discovered a most excellent site that made me react the same way I did when I discovered chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream:

Why didn’t someone think of this sooner?

The site, called Blogtations, is chock full of quotations taken from some really outstanding blogs. The site owner, a self-described quote addict, scours blogs looking for quotable material and posts a handful every Monday (and sometimes Friday). One of her fans called it “Like Bartlett’s, only bloggy.” She also takes recommendations, so go ahead and submit some of your favorite quotes from your favorite blogs. You might make someone’s day.

A word of warning: The site is addictive. The quotes are so high-quality, you’ll find yourself saying “Just one more.” And then you’ll keep reading. And miss meetings. And be late for dinner. The only problem with me having read everything in her archives is now I have to wait a week for new material. Crap!

What’s more is that I’ve been introduced to some fantastic blogs and felt a little annoyed that I hadn’t found them before. Where have all these great blogs been hiding?

Blogtations is the blogosphere’s best kept secret. But hopefully not for long! Head on over and check it out.

It’s official. I’m going to hell.

You may notice a new graphic in my sidebar for the BlogHer network. On approach for The Junk Drawer’s first birthday, I’ve considered ways to earn some cash to offset the costs associated with blogging.

I was recently accepted by BlogHer, and with it comes an opportunity to make some money on the side.

Don’t think for a second that I didn’t stress over this decision, especially because I have said publicly I would never put ads on this blog. That’s right. Never put ads on this blog.

During the last few months, I’ve been having a conversation with two opposing people in my head: Conflicted Me, who hates to go back on her word, and Sensible Me, who would like to earn enough money from blogging to buy a pizza and a beer every now and then.

Here’s how things went in my head:

Conflicted Me: So you said you’d never put ads on the blog. You’re a big, stinking liar. What gives?

Sensible Me: Yeah, I said it. What I never wanted were ads that leapt off the page in the middle of posts and annoyed people.

Conflicted Me: But you did it anyway.

Sensible Me: Well, not exactly. The BlogHer folks give you ads to put up over on the side that don’t scream at you. The ads come from well-known companies that I can get behind. It was really Google AdSense ads I didn’t want on my blog. I worried I’d get ads for Preparation H for all the times I discuss my butt.

Conflicted Me: But you always thought your blog would be purer if you kept ads off it.

Sensible Me: I did, but then I considered how much time I put into writing stories that entertain others.

Conflicted Me: You think this is entertaining?

Sensible Me: Shut up.

Conflicted Me: You once said your day job pays the bills, but blogging makes you rich. Did you really mean rich, as in a millionaire?

Sensible Me: No, stupid. I meant that it gave me an outlet to write for the masses. To hopefully give others something to chuckle about for five minutes during the day. It’s my passion.

Conflicted Me: But that didn’t mean you had to get paid for it, did it?

Sensible Me: No, but it started sounding like a viable option when Dave put it to me this way: “If you got your book published, you’d expect to be paid, right? So why are you giving away book material, one page at a time, for free?”

Conflicted Me: You think this stuff is book quality?

Sensible Me: Listen, jerk. I never said this was book quality or that I could ever actually publish a book. But it seems to me if I’m putting as much effort into the blog as I’d put into a book, then maybe it’s not a half-bad idea to get a little spare change along the way.

Conflicted Me: I bother you, don’t I?

Sensible Me: Yes, you do. Now could you get out of my head and let me be?

Conflicted Me: Sure, but have you thought about how your readers will feel about ads on your blog? Aren’t you worried they’ll go find someone else to read?

Sensible Me: Yes, but I’m willing to take the risk that maybe, just maybe, they could see the ads as an indirect way to put some dough in my pocket, and they’ll still feel enriched by reading something I wrote.

Conflicted Me: You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you?

Sensible Me: I’ve had about enough of you.

Conflicted Me: OK, but don’t come crying to me when all your readers leave and all you’ll have to celebrate your blog’s birthday is a cake and party hats with no one to pass them out to.

Sensible Me: Bite me. And you’re not invited! So there!

Conflicted Me: Suit yourself. I’m leaving. But we still have to discuss that $1 jar of mayo you forgot to pay for at the store last week. That’ll keep us up at night and you know it.

Note: While I did say yes to ads on my blog, I do have a little template tweaking to do. I plan to have two sidebars on the right, instead of just one so that the ads and other things can run on the right, while my other graphics will appear as before on the left.

And don’t worry. My face will stay right where it is. I know that’s the real reason you all come here.

These are trying times. Kathy has no words. A whopping ten drafts in her queue and nothing worthy of posting.

I think if I don’t post something today, nothing will ever get posted again, the Junk Drawer will close shop and you guys will loiter outside wondering what the hell happened.

I have to get something on the page to kick start me out of this funk I’m in.

Come back in a couple days if this post bores you to tears. I’m about to tell you about my weekend:

1. I fell asleep on the couch at 5PM yesterday and awoke at 8PM thinking it was the next day already. I slept hard. I even had full, movie-length dreams. In one of them, I was standing in a reception line at a political function, holding hands with Henry Kissinger. Discuss.

2. I worked all day Saturday, brought a lunch, but ate it before 10AM. So the rest of the day I took from the other junk drawer in my life and gave myself a headache, a stomachache and left work on such a sugar high I don’t remember how I got home.

3. My husband cleaned the bathrooms, God bless him, but broke the toilet seat off one of the toilets. How is this possible? Broke an entire toilet seat off its hinges? Men, if you’re going to help clean the house, don’t do it in the manner you would, say, play football. Cleaning a toilet needn’t be a race nor a destructive act. It just needs to be wiped down — gently.

4. In the process of preparing to send DrowseyMonkey her prize magnet for having the fattest head, I got sidetracked researching whether I can mail it with U.S. postage or if I have to take it to the post office to get international postage put on it. I tried Googling for the answer to this simple question, but could not find a satisfactory one. I’m too embarrassed to ask Drowsey, so I’ll just head to the post office tomorrow where I’m sure a clerk there will tell me what a moron I am.

5. I didn’t have the energy to fix something that’s been bugging me for a month. Our wall clock is stuck at 4 o’clock. We don’t know why because the batteries are fine. The pendulum below the clock face continues to swing to and fro. I meant to check on why it’s malfunctioning, but now I’m getting really used to it being 4 o’clock all the time. Four happens to be my favorite number, so I’m keeping it.

6. Since I took such a long nap yesterday, I couldn’t get to sleep until midnight last night. But my body always, always gets up between 4AM-5AM, which means I’m running on fumes right now. I’m sorry. This is the kind of post you get on fumes.

Forgive me for having to post such lame material, but this was the prescription for funkitis and it had to be done. Pray I’m funkless tomorrow.

Night.